"I am now a thief," May confided. "I have stolen his father's sovereigns." She had snatched the pouch of heavy coins from their hiding place under the floorboard, then concealed them beneath her skirts. With each step, their cold weight slapped her belly, still distended from childbirth.
Adele just looked at her, no doubt wondering whether she spoke the truth. May had been raving, she knew she had, ever since the baby turned cold and blue in her arms and Gabriel took it away.
"Come." Adele tried to hurry her along. "We must find a boat for to go downriver."
May dug her heels into the ground and burst into tears. "Not the river, Adele. No."
He had ordered her to be gone or he would have her pun ished for adultery, have her dragged behind his father's boat like the woman she had seen when she first stepped ashore in Anne Arundel Town. His eyes so full of hate, he had looked as though he could kill her with his own hands. Hold her head underwater until she drowned. The manservants said he had gone mad. After she had exploded at him, and he at her, the men had scattered and fled.
May tottered on her feet, but Adele caught her around the waist. Eyes wide with terror, the girl seemed determined to put as much distance as possible between them and Gabriel. They followed the path behind the servants' shacks.
"We will go to the creek," Adele said. "Walk along the creek until we come to the neighbors'."
"No. I will not go there and endure their pity. Never." For an awful moment, May imagined Paul Banham sending her back to her husband. "I have heard there is a track through the forest. We must flee north. Far away from here. To Philadelphia, if we can." She clung to Adele's arm. "If I perish along the way, you must go on without me. I will give you the sovereigns."
"You must not say such things."
The girl looked so frightened that May tried desperately to hold her torn body together and keep walking. Somehow they managed to cross the creek. Escape evil by crossing water. That was one of Joan's old superstitions. Flowing water stops the devil in his tracks.
Adele helped her clamber up the steep bank on the other side and into the forest of massive trees on which Gabriel had carved his name. By the letter of the law, May knew that she was his property, just as the trees were. He had every legal right to punish her as he saw fit. I was sold to him, just as you were sold to his father, she wanted to tell Adele. Parceled off to a stranger for a heap of tobacco.
"Watch yourself," Adele said as May stumbled blindly along. "We know not where his traps are."
Out of breath, May had to sit down. Adele gave her a piece of cornbread.
"You must eat to keep your strength."
"Why are you so good to me?" May asked. Only this girl had stayed with her through everything, after seeing her at her worst.
"Come. We must go on." Adele cast an anxious look back in the direction of the house.
They had covered another quarter-mile when Adele came to a halt, then pushed her body in front of May's.
"Mon Dieu!"
Adele tried to block her view, but it was already too late. The sight of the body in Gabriel's bear trap braced May like a dose of powerful physick. Her fever cooled and her vision cleared. She let her bundle of clothes drop to the ground, then crouched beside the dead girl and gingerly turned her over. Her gray face was frozen in a grotesque smile. Her fist clenched a knife. May reckoned that the girl had used the knife to try to free herself from the trap, but had lacked the strength to force the jaws apart. When had this happened? While she and Gabriel had been cursing each other? If it had been quiet at the house, might someone have heard the girl's screams and been able to save her? The smell was too much. May drew the edge of her cloak over her nose.
Adele sank down beside her. "Who is she?"
"Peter's girl." May let out her breath. "From the Banhams'. It looks like she did run away." She had seen the girl once, the previous autumn, when they had gone down to Banham's Landing with their tobacco barrels. Peter had confided about his sweetheart to Finn, then Finn had told May.
A shallow knife wound marked the girl's breast. Before she had fled, someone had stabbed her. Had she been ravaged by one of the men at the Banham Plantation? Or had Mrs. Banham, in a fit of jealousy, attacked the girl for catching her husband's eye? May had heard that Mrs. Banham was touched by madness. Perhaps the girl had stolen through the forest to beg asylum from the Washbrooks.
The decent thing would be to return and tell the news. But Peter had vanished along with the others. When May envisioned facing Gabriel, her strength ebbed with the blood that still leaked from her womb. If she wanted to keep herself alive, she couldn't afford to expend an ounce of effort or sentiment on this dead girl.
"May the Lord preserve us," she said. "Turn her over, Adele." She could no longer bear the sight of that ghastly face.
When the body was lying face-down, May could breathe again, pretend the girl wasn't dead but only sleeping. Her thick chestnut hair shone in the sunlight.
"Her hair." Adele shivered. "It is like yours."
An ugly laugh erupted from May's throat as the awful inspiration visited her. It was the devil moving through her, her wicked need to punish him. And her fear of him. He could still come after her, bring her to justice. The law was on his side. She reminded herself that she had stolen from him, too.
"Let us make her more like me."
Wrenching off her wedding band, she tried to force it on the corpse's swollen finger. She had to use her spittle before she could ease the ring over the knuckle. Shutting her ears to Adele's protests, she took the knife and carved on the smooth beech trunk near the dead girl's head. Murderer. Then she returned the knife to the dead fist.
Adele grabbed her shoulders. "How can you do this?"
A noise came out of May, halfway between a laugh and a moan. "He wanted me dead. Well, I've given him his wish." Drained from the effort of carving the letters, she collapsed against the beech trunk. "Do you not understand, Adele? I am that boy's wife." She breathed fast, praying that she wouldn't faint. "I own nothing, not even my clothes."
Reaching for the bundle of dresses, she untied the sacking and dumped them beside the body. The sun glanced off her embroidered green wedding gown. "Let him have it all," she panted. "You know I am not able to walk very fast or very far. If he comes after me, I am finished. But this way, he never will." She burst out laughing, but that hurt her and she had to clutch her belly. She thought of the tiny wrinkled infant, whom she had named after the sister she would never see again. Unbaptized, the baby would wander forever in limbo, as doomed and hopeless as her mother. Like the weakest of women, she began to weep. "There is nothing left of me, Adele."
"We must keep walking." Adele wrapped May's arm around her shoulder and hoisted her to her feet. The forest, the sunlight, the dead girl, the pile of discarded clothes, and the pain blurred together as Adele led her away. High in the trees, birds sang. May's soul floated out ahead of her broken body.
***
Adele said an angel guided them through the forest. They were blessed with mild days and nights. Huddled together in Adele's blankets, they slept on piles of dead leaves. After their food ran out and snow began to fall, an Indian woman found them and took them to her village. May's memory of that time was a haze of the weight of deerskins over her fevered body and the bitter willow-bark brew the woman gave her. She dreamt of comets tracing brilliant paths across the heavens. Her lifelong dream had finally come true. Fatherless, husbandless, utterly masterless, she was her own woman. She was as free as the tinker she had kissed at the village dance all those years ago. She could wander the wilderness like an explorer, blazing her own trail. When she tried to raise herself from the deerskin, Adele and the Indian woman held her down and gave her more of the brew. Adele never seemed to leave her side. Sometimes she thought it was only that girl's devotion that rooted her to this world.
Something was rising in Adele. The Indian woman, whose language May could not speak, saw it, too—May could read the knowledge on
her face. Adele wasn't a girl anymore. A light shone in her eyes. Her skin gave off a dark radiance. It was her mother's magic, May thought. Adele was coming into her powers.
When May could sit up without fainting, she made herself useful stitching buckskin with a bone needle and thread made from bear gut. The lifeblood flowed inside her once more. She helped the Indian woman make corncakes, which they cooked on hot stones. In spring, before she and Adele continued on their way, May gave the woman her tortoiseshell hair clasp and a gold sovereign. Adele gave her the white cockerel feather from the pouch she wore around her neck. A white feather for blessing and protection. Then they set off through the forest, following the way Adele insisted was north, until they reached Philadelphia.
To Mrs. Hannah Powers
Hare Wood Green
Gloucestershire
England
June 1691
My dearest Hannah,
I pray to God that this Letter reach your Hands before you set sail to America. Sister, I must tell you the Impossible, namely that my Marriage to Gabriel Washbrook was the worst Match anyone could have made. In Faith, I own that I am to blame for my own Fate. My Wantonness did earn my Husband's Scorn and I have escaped his House like a Fugitive, allowing him to believe that I had perish'd in the Woods. My deepest Grief is that my Daughter, named Hannah after you, lived only Seven Days. I shall never cease mourning her.
Despite my many Wicked Acts, God has seen fitt to bless me with a true Friend, Adele, whom I have to thank for my verry Life. We share a little House in Philadelphia, where we do earn our Bread as Seamstresses. Our Workroom below has a big glassed Windoe that we may make use of the Light for our Sewing. We sleep in the Garret above. In the Back we have a small Garden where we do grow Vegetables and keep Chickens and Rabbitts. I live under the Name of May Powers, for after what I have done, I will not have myself be call'd by my Husband's Name. Mine is a Simple Life, but one I cherish, for I am my own Mistress.
Dear Sister, please write to me with all Speed. If you should join us in Philadelphia, it would be my greatest Joy. If you choose to stay in England, you have my Love and Blessing, too. But know, dearest, that there is Nothing for you at Washbrook Landing.
Yr loving Sister May
To Mistress Hannah Powers
Washbrook Plantation
Sequose River
Maryland
Western Shore
October 1694
My dearest Hannah,
I did write to you at our old Home in Hare Wood Green only to have my Letter return'd to me with the News that you had allready sailed for the Chesapeak. My dearest, will you ever forgive me for not warning you in Time? I have fled the Washbrook Plantation, my Husband having cast me out. Now he believes me to be dead. He has probably told you as much himself. I do write to you now under the name of Mistress Thorn to conceal my Identity.
Darling, please write to me with Speed. Seek Refuge on the Banham Plantation and from there do make your way to Philadelphia where I await you most anxiously. On no account remain on the Washbrook Plantation. If you do so, you live in peril. Ere I last saw Gabriel Washbrook, he was out of his Mind. Hannah, I pray for you every Day. God willing, Adele and I shall soon wellcome you to our Home.
Yr loving Sister May
In January 1695, the letter came back in the mail, its wax seal still unbroken. Hannah's name was smudged, the paper creased by too many fingers. By the light of a guttering candle, May read the message that accompanied the letter.
Dear Mistress Thorn,
It is with deepest Grief that I impart this News. The Washbrook Plantation burned to the Ground this Summer last. No Trace could be found of Mr. Washbrook, Mistress Hannah Powers, or her Child. May God have Mercy on the Souls of the Departed.
Yours truly, Richard Banham, Esquire
The letter slipped from May's grasp and fell to the floor. "She had a child." May pressed her fingers to her mouth. "She's dead. Had I but warned her."
"You did," Adele replied. "You did try," she amended. "The first letter..."
"Too late." May could almost see the flames enveloping Hannah. If it weren't for Adele's hands gripping hers, she thought she would blow away like a dry husk in the draft sweeping down from the eaves. "What must have happened?" May closed her eyes. "Coming to that place and finding him there. She would have had no money left. Nowhere else to go." She wept as she had when her baby died. "She bore his child, Adele."
Head bowed, Adele did not speak, only squeezed her hands.
"What must she have thought? He would have told her I was dead." Had her sister succumbed to him because she was helpless and bereft, adrift in the wilderness? A chill crept into her. Hannah had borne his child even though May had made it look as if she had perished at his hands. The specter of her sister's betrayal nearly overpowered her shame at the fiendish trick she had played. To think that her tenderhearted sister would bed the man who had driven her from her home with the threat of near drowning.
"Mayhap her child was not his," she blurted, in one last attempt to salvage Hannah's memory. "On her journey, someone might have taken advantage."
Adele regarded her sadly. "His child or no, she lived with him in his house."
"I wonder if she found the letter I hid in the Bible." The thought of her sister with Gabriel's baby made her loss even keener, the memory of the cold blue infant buried beneath that flimsy cross. This is my punishment. This was the plate of bitter herbs she must swallow to atone for her own treachery.
"I forgive her," she told Adele. "How can I not? She's dead. They're all dead. Burned alive." May could not get over the horror of the fire. How unspeakable Hannah's death must have been, flames scorching her flesh, devouring both her and the child she tried to shield.
Adele pulled May's hands from her eyes. "Listen to me. You know not if she is truly dead. You know nothing of what happened."
"Will you gaze into your glass for me? Look for Hannah in the glass?"
Adele opened the wooden box at the foot of their bed and pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. "Bring the candle."
May took the single taper from the wall sconce and set it on the closed box. Pulling the cloth away, Adele unveiled a sea float made of green glass that they had found while walking on the shore. Once it had been used to buoy up fishing nets.
"Take my hands." She spoke with the authority of an obeah woman's daughter. She and May sat on opposite ends of the box, hands joined on either side of the glass ball. Their breath fogged its surface. "Think of your sister."
My lost sister. Hannah on the Bristol pier. The wind whipped her hair loose from its linen cap. The wind braided their hair together, chestnut to the blinding red. Her sister begged her not to leave, tears flooding her green eyes. Sweet Hannah. May remembered her as a baby, tiny pink face and squeezing hands.
Candle flame cast its sheen over Adele's face. As she stared into the glass, seeing things invisible to May, her features seemed to shift, eyes widening, mouth curving. Even her voice sounded different.
"I see a girl. She is much smaller than you. Her hair it is like fire."
May nodded, tears streaming down her face.
"She carries a boychild on her back."
A son. Would he have looked like his father? May pushed her enmity away. Hannah had nothing left, no family, no one to protect her. Maybe Gabriel had been gentle to her, stitched her a pair of slippers. How could he help but fall in love with that girl whose innocence set her so far apart from May? Father had favored her, then Gabriel did, too. Hadn't she herself told Hannah to forgive and then forget her? I was born under Cursed Stars and only bring Pain and Misfortune.
"Do you see him anywhere?" May couldn't bring herself to utter his name.
"I see only her and the child. The forest it is on fire, but the flames they do not touch her. She is long gone, far away. She walks the forest. She shines bright like flame itself."
V
35. At the Sign of the Mortar and Unicorn
BEING THE TRUE STORY OF MY WANDERINGS AND CAREER AS AN ITINERANT PHYSICIAN AND APOTHECARER, BY MRS. HANNAH POWERS WARD, LATELY OF PHILADELPHIA
1740
My dear lost Sister, though we are never to be reunited in this World, it is to you that I address my True History. In many Ways, you are the Author of my Journey, for it was on your Account that I renounced my true Love Gabriel Washbrook and became a Physician (despite my Sex) like our Father before us.
While I live, I carry the Secrets with me. I confess I told a Lie or two to safeguard my Son's Reputation—I let him believe that I was married to his Father, who died of Ague, leaving me no Choice but to don his Buckskins and earn my own Bread. After I depart from this World, Daniel and his Children may read these Words and make what they will from the plain Facts.
Daniel's Memory of the early Years of our Wandering is dim. He cannot recall how long we journeyed through Forests and over Hills, from Farm to Village and Town. Nor can he remember how many Times we slept in Haymows or some Farmer's Shed. In the beginning, I traveled on Foot, sometimes covering as many as twenty Miles a Day, with the Child and all my Gear strapped to my Body. Later, as I began to prosper, I purchased a Cart and a Mare that I named Fortuna.
In Faith, I cannot say how many were fooled by my male Disguise, for I am small and carried a Child, but I never lacked Employment. It was to my Advantage that there were precious few Doctors in the Hinterlands through which I traveled. Most who called themselves Doctors were Quacks who demanded as much as a Sovereign for some Elixir made of nothing more than Horse Piss diluted with Water. Many could not read, much less understand the Latin Books of Medicine and Anatomy. Some of the Irregular Physicians prescribed so-called Heroick Measures, wherein the Medicine had to be as noxious as the Disease. They had their Patients swallow ground Cattle-Hooves, then plastered their Bodies with Poultices of Dung, then bled them till they fainted away. Nearly as bad were the Preacher-Physicians who reasoned that their Book-Learning gave them the Authority to practice Medicine, though they knew little of Physick or Anatomy. These Preachers blamed all Sickness on the Patient's Sins; the only succor they offered were Prayer and Bible Verses. When the Disease took its Course, killing the Patient, the Preacher-Physician proclaimed it the Will of God.
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